


Spirit Week

by poynter



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Homecoming Dance, M/M, Multi, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poynter/pseuds/poynter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High School/Homecoming Week AU<br/>Rhys, Vaughn, and Sasha are on the school’s (notoriously terrible) football team with no idea how to pull off a win for the homecoming game if they can't even pull themselves together. Meanwhile, Fiona's desperation to get on the cheerleading squad lands her a spot as Head Captain Jack's number one lackey. On top of all that, two people are planning on asking Rhys to the homecoming dance, and Rhys is too nice to say no.<br/>Homecoming week has never been so stressful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One: Pajama Day

“Whoa, Sash! It’s _pajama_ day, not wear what you wear every day... day.” Vaughn cringed and pulled at the collar of his Batman onesie. “Despite the awkward wording, did that joke still land?”

“Oh, yeah, it landed. Just like the first twenty times I heard it this morning.” Sasha sighed as she rubbed her eyes. “And trust me, this is exactly how I’d dress if the dress code didn’t ban pajama pants, spaghetti straps, and anything comfy.” Her pajama day-friendly outfit– complete with flannel pants adorned with pastel-colored ducks in nightcaps– certainly screamed of the utmost level of comfort. If only to take full advantage of the opportunity, there was a pillow tucked under her arm. Her peers had chuckled at it as she passed them in the hall that morning, then swiftly turned around and congratulated her on being well-equipped for sleeping through class. “I’m still so exhausted from practice yesterday. Why the hell is coach kicking our asses into the ground?”  


“‘Cause we suck,” Vaughn said flatly.

“Well, duh, that’s what I’m saying. Why do we have to work harder all of a sudden if we already know we’re going to lose the homecoming game?” groaned Sasha.

“Because he’s trying to stroke his coach-ly ego by making us into the lovable underdog champs? Maybe?” Vaughn offered. Sasha smirked and shook her head at her friend’s attempt at rationalization. She took a seat beside him and reached into her backpack for an apple and a worksheet which had been due the previous day. Vaughn glanced at the unfinished math problem in front of him, knowing he couldn’t concentrate on trigonometry when he kept imagining every single awful event that could occur during Friday’s game.

His most prominent nightmare revolved around Rhys. It wasn’t that Rhys was _bad_ at football, he was just the tiniest bit unreliable under pressure. Vaughn viewed Rhys’s arm as a pasta noodle. It was nice and firm in the package, but as soon as it got dropped into hot water, it went limp. The hot water, unfortunately, happened to be every single game they played. 

Rhys was only part of the problem, though; the team’s solid footing seemed to crumble as soon as they went face-to-face with another team. It was a comedy of errors, and the Hyperion High Stallions were the butt of the joke. Consequently, Vaughn and Sasha found it difficult to be optimistic about winning the homecoming game seeing as their team had consistently proved to be worthless on the field. 

_But how is it even possible?_ Vaughn’s logic-grounded mind screamed. _How could we be fine in practice, yet so shitty when it comes down to it? Is it the bright lights, the other players, the fans, the cheerleaders–_

Vaughn dropped both his jaw and his mechanical pencil. Sasha gave him a half-hearted side-eye. _The cheerleaders,_ Vaughn repeated in his head. _We’re losing because of the freaking cheerleaders._

•

“ _Alright_ , cheerlosers! Line up against the lockers where I can see all of your pathetic faces and vomit-inducing outfits at once! Chop–frickin’–chop!”

The Hyperion High Cheerleading Squad had consisted of twenty-one people in September. Scarcely a month later on Pajama Day, the squad was down to seven girls and one malevolent dictator.

“As this is my first and final year as Almighty Captain of Cheer, I’m going to give you the lowdown for what’s about to happen for the rest of Spirit Week.”

Jack sauntered up to the line of lockers-and-minions as the warning bell for first period echoed through the hallway. One of the freshman girls glanced at the clock as her captain chuckled maliciously.

“Worried about being late, side ponytail?” Jack said with a grin. “Cute. Real cute. You’re welcome to run along to class as long as you have no interest in cheering at your first homecoming game on Friday.” The girl tensed up and mumbled an apology. “Great. Glad to hear it. Honestly, and I’m not just saying this, our pyramid would be lost without you. Anyway, put your hands out, kiddos.”

Jack reached into the pockets of his black-and-yellow checkered pajama pants and pulled out a handful of temporary tattoos. Each had a picture of a stallion with the word CHEER written across its body in large, bold letters. He slapped a couple in each girl’s outstretched palm as he spoke. 

“Before lunchtime, I expect all of you to be wearing one on the back of your hand. Every time you see me in the hall, you gotta show me your hands so I can make sure you’re still sporting this neat little piece of school spirit.” He pulled at the collar of his “SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK” t-shirt, revealing a temporary tattoo placed crookedly between his protruding collar bones. “Now, for all of you underclassmen who aren’t as blessed as I am to have a free period first thing in the morning, get your late asses to class.”

“Hey, Jack–”

“AND DON’T FORGET PRACTICE RUNS LATE TODAY!” he called down the hall as the cheerleaders scampered to their classrooms in a vain attempt to be in their seats before announcements.

“ _Jack_.”

“Why are you– oh.” Jack folded his arms over his chest, not thrilled at the sight of the girl in front of him. “It’s you.” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Fiona said with faked enthusiasm. “Look, I know we’ve already talked about this, but I was wondering if you changed your mind about letting me try out for the team.” She sported her best _I-don’t-want-to-do-this-but-I-have-no-choice_ smile, knowing that the last chance she had at getting her way was through kissing some major ass. Unfortunately, the ass she had to kiss belonged to a total douchebag.

Jack sighed. “Fifi. Can I call you that? Fifi?”

Fiona’s feigned smile threatened to crack under the circumstances. “You can call me that if you want,” she managed to spit out.

“Great. Fifi, I’m gonna tell you a story.” He draped his arm loosely around Fiona’s neck and looked down the hall with a dreamy look in his eye. “It’s about someone who slept through cheer try-outs and came crawling back to Jack– what is it, three, four, times– let’s say _five_ times, begging for a spot on the team. And guess what? Every single time, Jack said no. But the hope in little Fifi’s eyes just wouldn’t fade away...”

Fiona’s face grew hot. Clad in a slouchy t-shirt and pajama shorts with cartoonish cowboy hats on them, her temperament was decidedly contrastive to her clothes.

“Okay, dude, I fucking get it. But here’s a story for _you_.” She unhooked Jack’s arm from her body, all at once choosing to ditch the “suck-up” routine for something more direct. “My little sister’s going to be playing in her first homecoming game on Friday, and since I’ve been banned from watching high school sporting events since I punched a ref back in Sophomore year, I have no way to watch her except for getting on _your_ stupid team. So you either let me on, or I’m going to mug one of your ‘cheerlosers’ for her uniform and make an appearance on your squad whether you like it or _not_.” 

Fiona breathed like she’d just spewed fire from her nostrils. Jack took a step back and stared at her in shock. The announcements crackled through the PA system.

“ _Good morning, Stallions. This is August, senior class president, wishing you a happy start to spirit week. All those interested in participating in the Pajama Day costume contest should stop by the main office to get your picture taken..._ ”

“He never really sounds, uh, enthusiastic when he does these things, does he?” Jack said, pointing up at the speakers. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious he’s only class prez ‘cause he’s cute...”

“Stop changing the subject, thanks,” Fiona interjected.

Jack smirked in both amusement and slight reverence. “Alright, then.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remaining temporary tattoos. Fiona’s sharp-edged expression melted into one of relief. “You overheard what I was telling the rest of the squad about these tattoos?” Fiona nodded as he handed one to her. Then he leaned in closer, a twisted smile coloring his tone as he whispered. “You’re gonna wear yours on your forehead.”

Fiona’s eyes widened. “My–”  
  
“You got it.” He shrugged off his messenger bag and forcefully dropped it onto his new squadmate’s shoulder. “Judging by the fact you’re still lolly-gagging in the hall, you must be free this period, so you’re going to be taking care of my Pre-Calc homework and Astronomy essay...”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Uh, yeah. I am pretty serious, princess. I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say I’m about three hundred percent more serious than you were when you said you’d steal a uniform off of one of my girls and hop onto the field on game day.” Jack nudged her shoulder as she glowered at him. “Aw, don’t hate me for calling you out on your bluff. ‘Cause, like, now I totally know your only options in this situation are getting on my team by any means possible or failing your kid sister, which is pretty damn awesome for me. So, let’s consider _this_ your try-out. Now, be a good lackey– y’know, since you have no other choice– and follow me. Before you get my work done, we’re gonna put that _kickass_ tatt on your forehead.”

Fiona, boiling with rage but stuck her predicament, exhaled sharply, hiked the messenger bag up her shoulder, and trudged in Jack’s footsteps as he sashayed down the hall.

• 

Rhys needed sleep. Badly. And being decked out in his comfiest pajamas made the allure of taking a nap in Astronomy all the more enticing. Unfortunately for Rhys, that particular day was a lab day, and his partner didn’t have the kind of demeanor that soothed people to sleep.

“Nice jammies, Rhysie,” Jack said, eyeing Rhys up and down.

Rhys pulled at his soft button-up nightshirt and smiled. “Thanks.” Pale yellow and white lines striped across the surface of his shirt, and he was wearing yellow flannel pajama pants to match. To top off the ensemble, he’d put on a pair of slippers that were shaped like cube-headed robots. 

“I’m actually surprised you didn’t dress up more,” Rhys said to Jack as he wrote their names on the top of the lab worksheet. “You know, with like... uh, like a cape, or a mattress tied to your back or something.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Not bad ideas, but I’m saving all of my strength for Friday.”

“Going all out for black and yellow day?”

“‘All out’ is a hideous understatement. I’d tell you more, but _God_ , do I ever wanna see the look on your face when I walk in with my costume. Hoo, boy.” He leaned forward on the lab table and rested his chin in his palms, then stared up at Rhys’s growing smile. 

“Alright,” Rhys said, rolling up his sleeves. “So I can go grab the materials if you want to start this calculation–”

“What are you doing after the game?” 

“Huh?” Rhys wasn’t unaccustomed to Jack’s interruptions– on most days, it kept him on his toes– but the fatigue tugging at his mind made it hard to keep up.

“Friday. Big game. You throw football, crowd go ‘woo,’ I cheer lots. What are you doing after it?” Rhys noticed that Jack was staring at his fingers as he spoke. Typically, Jack’s eyes were glued on Rhys’s expression, like he was studying it for signs of weakness.

“The homecoming dance, I guess. The whole team’s gonna go, so they kind of expect me to make an appearance.” 

Jack started tapping his pencil on the table. “Sounds like you’re not thrilled about that.”

“It’s fine,” Rhys said with a shrug. “But I’m probably the most embarrassing dancer in the world. I mean, I love it, but it doesn’t love me, y’know?” 

“So you look like an idiot with two left feet, but you still can’t pass up a chance to shake your ass to a catchy pop song. Gotcha,” Jack noted.

"Basically. Don’t spread this around, but there’s this one 80’s song, I never remember the name, but it’s fast and upbeat and... anyway, my feet start doing the dancey thing before my mind can say, ‘hey, feet, don’t do the dancey thing.’”

“Ooh, thanks for the information, fancy feet,” Jack said with a devilish smile on his lips. “I’m _totally_ gonna tell everyone I know.”

“Jack, I swear to God–”

“Hey now, I’m kidding. I won’t do that. I’m just gonna hold it over your head for the rest of your goddamn life,” Jack quipped, trying not to grin at the way Rhys’s face had drained of color in a matter of seconds. “So you’re hitting the dance, then...”

“Well, August is throwing an afterparty, so I think I’m gonna go to that. Get a little tip-tip.” He pretended to throw back a shot, then chuckled at himself. 

“I like the sound of that. Wanna pull some strings and get me an invite?” Jack asked, aiming an expectant glance at Rhys.

“I’m sure August wouldn’t mind if you came.” Rhys was definitely _not_ sure about that, but the words left his mouth before he could think it through. “I can text you the address when I get word of it.”

“So you miraculously have my phone number even though I’ve never given it to you?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “I was getting there, pushy.” He moved to take his phone out of his pocket, but was interrupted by their teacher reminding them that this was _lab_ time, not _gab_ time. Rhys muttered an apology. Jack stayed silent.

As Jack began the first calculation on the lab, Rhys leaned over and scribbled seven digits on the top of the sheet. Jack stopped writing to stare at it, then looked up as Rhys walked away to gather supplies. He took the opportunity to catch a glimpse of his lab partner’s butt.

•

After a day full of strange looks, whispers, and being reported to the principal for possible gang activity, Fiona was more than relieved when the end-of-day bell rang.

“Hey Fi, how’s it going?”

Fiona slammed her locker door and turned to face her sister. “ _This_ is how it’s going,” she grumbled as she pointed at the stallion gracing her forehead. 

Sasha grimaced. “That’s, uh, a lovely new addition. But why does it say ‘cheer?’” Fiona’s lips curled into a smile and Sasha stared at her in disbelief. “No way. You didn’t...”

“Guess who’s got two thumbs and is gonna be at your game Friday?” Fiona exclaimed, giving Sasha an ecstatic double thumbs up. “And, coincidentally, guess whose two thumbs are going to be holding pom-poms?”

Sasha burst out laughing as she pulled Fiona into a hug. “Wow. My sister’s a _cheerleader_. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

“Yeah, no big deal–” 

“HEY, UNDERLING!”

Fiona cringed at the sound of the voice ringing down the hall. “There’s just one little, tiny thing,” she said, still embracing Sasha.

“YO! I’M TALKING TO YOU!”

“I’m-kind-of-Jack’s-bitch-for-the-rest-of-the-week.”

Sasha broke out of the hug, eyes wide. “You’re _what_?”

“God, Fifi,” Jack chuckled, approaching the sisters with Rhys at his side. “You’re really failing at this whole ‘call and response’ thing. I’ll meet you upstairs, Rhys,” Jack said before herding Fiona toward his locker. Fiona sighed, waved at Sasha, and followed.

“I have to finish my Astronomy lab with that goon before practice,” Rhys said, nodding in Jack’s direction. “Wanna hang out with us in the science room? It’s usually pretty quiet in there.”

“It won’t be quiet as long as he’s in there,” muttered Sasha. “He’s totally taking Fiona for a ride, isn’t he? She just wanted to be able to come to the game for me, and now he’s extorting her–” 

“Didn’t she punch a ref in tenth grade?”

“Yeah, but the guy totally deserved it.” Rhys attempted to make his skeptical expression appear more supportive, but he just ended up looking gassy. Sasha sighed. “You would’ve understood if you were there. I’ll grab my stuff and meet you in the room in a minute. But I swear, if I hear that dude say one bad thing about Fiona, I’m going to practice my punt on his balls.”

“Fair enough,” Rhys agreed. _A good kick to the balls might actually help him get some work done_ , he thought. Besides, most of their lab period had been spent laughing at the word “Uranus.”

On his way to the science room, Rhys stopped at Vaughn’s locker to check up on his superhero-outfitted teammate. “Hey, buddy, got somewhere to go before practice?” 

“Just tutoring some stupid freshmen in algebra,” Vaughn said with sarcastic enthusiasm.

“Damn, I was going to invite you to– wait! Did you hear the results of the Pajama Day contest yet? Didn’t you enter?”

“Yeah. Janey Springs won. Again,” Vaughn grumbled as he adjusted his glasses. “I swear, she wins every year I actually try to dress up. What does she have that I don’t? Besides, you know, a really attractive girlfriend to help me come up with an outfit?”  
  
“That sucks, bro,” Rhys said, sympathetically patting his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, I know I’m not your hot girlfriend or anything, but we could still collaborate on a decent Celebrity Day outfit for tomorrow. We could go shopping after practice or something.”  
  
Rhys’s offer lifted some weight off of Vaughn’s dejected expression. “Really? That would– oh, _shit_ , wait. I can’t. I have freakin’ Mountain Scouts after practice...”

Rhys crinkled up his forehead. “Mountain Scouts? Like the thing where a bunch of boys learn to tie knots and make fires but only go camping, like, once every five years? You’re still in that?”  
  
“Hey, it looks good on a resume!” Vaughn retorted, feeling his face grow red. “Anyway, I can’t today, but maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure. It’s a bro-date!” Rhys declared, thrusting his fist into the air for comedic effect.

“A bro-date.” Vaughn’s throat tightened around the words. “Hey, uh, by the way. I have a question. About Friday–”

“ _Rhysie_!” Jack’s sing-song voice preceded his arrival by mere fractions of a second. Before Vaughn could register that his conversation had been hijacked in the most literal sense of the word, Rhys was dragged away by the wrist as he shouted that he’d see Vaughn at practice.

Vaughn sighed and took a notebook out of his locker. Before he closed the door, he glanced at one of the pictures he’d taped up at the beginning of the year. It depicted Rhys, sweaty but elated, pouring a bottle of water over an unsuspecting Vaughn’s head. It was taken after last year’s homecoming game, when the Stallions won a hard-fought victory... and the cheerleading team wasn’t lead by Jack. Vaughn gazed at the picture for a few seconds longer, then closed his locker and glumly stared at the spot where Rhys had been dragged away. 

At that moment, Vaughn was one hundred percent positive that the cheerleaders were the sole reason that the Stallions were going to lose the homecoming game.


	2. Day Two: Celebrity Day

The score was tied. The fans were shrieking. The lights beat down on the field with unparalleled intensity– and Rhys was about to win the homecoming game for the Stallions.

With the end zone in sight, he ran as fast as his legs could manage. _This is it!_ he thought triumphantly. _I’m actually going to win this thing! Goodbye embarrassing loss, hello eternal glory and incredible fortu–_

His celebration was cut short by a multitude of hulking, sweaty players from the opposing team tackling him to the ground and piling on top of his limp body. Seconds before his lungs collapsed, Rhys snapped awake from the dream and stared up at the concerned faces of his friends.

“You okay, dude?” asked Vaughn. 

“Yeah. It’s barely first period and you’re _already_ asleep. You’re more of a pre-calc napper,” Sasha commented.

Rhys sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Oh my God, you have no idea. I keep having these stupid dreams about losing Friday’s game.”

“Well, here’s something to lift your spirits,” said Sasha. She tossed a heart-shaped box of chocolate on the table. “It’s all yours if you want it. I think most of them are filled with coconut.” 

Without another word, Rhys tore open the box and raided its contents. He was about to devour a second piece when Sasha cleared her throat. “What?” he asked through a mouthful of chocolate. 

“You’re not even a _little_ curious about how I got those?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Rhys wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Did August finally admit he has a thing for you, or...”

“Guess who has a date to the dance?” Vaughn sang, nudging Sasha’s shoulder. “Hint: She’s your friend, she’s in this room right now, her name is Sasha...”

“Hey, congrats, Sash!” Rhys exclaimed, high-fiving her. “Who’s the lucky miss-and-or-mister?”

“Gaige.”

“Wouldn’t peg her as a lovey-dovey chocolate box type of girl,” Rhys commented.

“I didn’t either, but she also left a note with it.” Sasha took a scrap of notebook paper out of her pocket and read it aloud. “‘I found these in the bottom of my locker and I don’t know what to do with them. Also, do you want to go to the dance with me? Chocolate unrelated. Unless you like it. From Gaige.’ Apparently when we worked on that English project together, she caught the feelies for me. No clue how.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Come on. You were probably flirting with her, you just didn’t realize it.”

“Nah. I mean, she’s definitely cute, but I didn’t go out of my way to hit on her. Something about working in close quarters with someone must ignite the flames of passion...” Sasha said in a dramatic tone.

Rhys laughed nervously as a burning sensation tugged at his chest. He felt the sudden need to change the subject. “Uh, by the way, aren’t you a little underdressed for Celebrity Day?” He gestured proudly at his outfit of the day: a gold tie over a black vest; tight, leather pants; black-and-yellow striped socks under snakeskin boots; and silver aviators balancing on top of his head.

Sasha was at the other end of the ‘dress-up’ spectrum, wearing the same outfit she’d had on the previous Friday: a slouchy shirt and jeans. She scoffed at Rhys’s comment. “The concept of this day is ‘dress like you’re a celebrity,’ right? Well, this is how I’d dress if I was famous. Like a normal person.”

“Yeah, okay,” Vaughn sneered. He’d taken the opportunity to dress like a historical figure, complete with a white wig, ruffled cravat, and a cummerbund. “I _told_ her she looked ridiculous.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Sasha countered. “It’s good to know if you were ever famous, you’d want to look like you’re from the fourteenth century.” Vaughn opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, his wig slipped down over his eyes and he struggled to get it back on top of his head. He decided not to fight this particular battle.

•

“Chocolate?”  
  
Jack nodded, grabbed a piece that was topped with sprinkles, and tried to pretend he didn’t notice that the box was shaped like a heart. “What’s the occasion? Am I gonna shit my pants in five minutes or something?”

Rhys chuckled. “Nah, these are from my friend.” Jack suddenly found it hard to swallow the bite in his mouth. “Someone gave them to her but she didn’t want them, so she gave them to me.”

“Oh. That’s... what’s the word... cute?” Jack said as he reached out to swipe another chocolate from the box, specks of glitter falling from his sleeve as he moved. In honor of Celebrity Day, he wore all black beneath a long, gold-and-glittery robe that trailed behind him when he walked. A bejeweled crown sat on his head, and he carried a scepter with him all day. Thanks to the outfit, he had an excuse to live out his dream: forcing the entire cheerleading squad to bow to him. 

Due to the fact that the class had a substitute teacher that day, Astronomy class was deemed a study hall. Rhys played music from his phone’s speakers as he worked on a few math problems; admittedly, Jack wasn’t impressed by his lab partner’s taste in tunes, but he decided to hold his tongue. He was doing pretty well until an upbeat song began to play.

“My God, Rhysie,” Jack snickered. “You listen to Mad Moxxi, pop queen extraordinaire? _Really_?”

“Hey, ditch the judgmental attitude! This is our powderpuff halftime song,” Rhys huffed. Though the powderpuff game centered around the junior cheerleaders and student government facing off against their senior counterparts in flag football, the main attraction tended to be the football team taking on the role of cheerleaders for the event. 

“So it’s the song that’s gonna play when my big, tough senior class kicks your puny junior class’s butt. Gotcha,” Jack noted.

“Well, I figure you’re going to be so impressed with our dance moves on the sidelines, you’re gonna forfeit the win to my ‘puny’ class,” retorted Rhys, a confident smile on his lips. “You’ll see. My hip gyrations are the eighth wonder of the world.”

“I doubt your _hips_ are going to distract me from winning,” Jack quipped.  
  
“You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

“You should show me sometime.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Hey, noodle-looking kid with the hair! That better not be your phone on the table!” the substitute teacher bellowed.

“It’s an MP3 player,” Rhys responded as his cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red than they’d been during his banter with Jack.

As the substitute went on to scold Rhys for playing music too loudly, Jack found himself unable to wipe a satisfied smirk off his face. He availed himself of another chocolate while Rhys had his back turned.

•

“...And here’s your math homework. It’s probably one hundred percent wrong, by the way, because I failed algebra twice.”

“Great. Perfect. Sweet.” Jack was staring down the hall, his thoughts roaming far from his current conversation with Fiona.

“I answered the questions for your Lit class about the book I’ve never read.” She waved the finished homework in front of his face, waiting for him to grab it. He didn’t. She sighed. “Oh, incidentally, I also set your house on fire and ate your dog’s liver for lunch.”

“Awesome. Glad to hear it.”

Fiona crossed her arms over her t-shirt, which bore a picture of a now-dead rock star; this was her attempt at dressing up for Celebrity Day. “Dude, can you at least acknowledge the fruits of my slave labor? Or is this part of your dumbass hazing routine?”

“Keep it down, Fifi, you’re gonna– _hey_ Rhys, off to practice shaking those hips in a futile attempt to cheer your class to victory?”

“You won’t be making jokes when the juniors win!” Rhys scoffed as he passed. Sasha walked beside him and gave a little wave at Fiona before glowering at Jack. 

As Rhys and Sasha continued down the hall, Fiona smirked. “ _Now_ I get why you weren’t listening to me.”

“Shut up,” grumbled Jack as he snatched his work out of Fiona’s grip. 

“You should’ve seen your face when you were staring at him!” she giggled.

“What part of ‘shut up’ is confusing to you?”

“C’mon, you gotta admit you were gawking–”

“Your forehead tattoo is rubbing off!” Jack exclaimed in a desperate attempt to change the subject. “Fix it, and while you’re at it, get my Astronomy homework done by the end of the day–”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. When I was doing your math homework, I saw the diagram you drew in the back of your notebook. You know, your crazy plan for asking him to the dance tomorrow?” said Fiona. The color drained from Jack’s face. “Your concept is... kind of elaborate and needlessly flashy, but so are you, so it works. You sure you can handle it all by yourself?”  
  
“Probably,” Jack muttered.

“But there’s so much going on. The timing, the music, the thing with the confetti cannon... you’d need another person, unless you’re planning on cloning yourself.”

“I’m working on that,” grumbled Jack. “So, what is this? Are you trying to get at something here? Some sort of blackmail situation?”

“Not _exactly_ blackmail. More like a trade-off. I help you pull off your idea, and you give me less assignments,” Fiona proposed with hands on her hips. “Or just don’t give me your math homework anymore. Looking at those equations made me queasy.” She extended her arm, waiting for a deal-sealing handshake.

Jack studied Fiona’s confident stance before replying. “You can’t tell a goddamn soul. Got it?”

“Well, everyone’s gonna know after tomorrow anyway–”

“I said, _‘got it_?’” Jack said through gritted teeth.

“Geeze, okay, I got it.” When they shook hands, both parties experienced a sudden wave of relief.

•

Vaughn was having second thoughts. The paper bag in his grip seemed to burn holes in his skin, and his anxiety only increased with every second he followed behind August’s lumbering steps.

“Which one did you say it was?” asked August. He held a master key in his hand, which happened to be covered by fingerless gloves. Though he’d briefly considered not dressing up for Celebrity Day and claiming that he was already famous due to his class president status, the spike-studded leather vest in his closet screamed to be used at least once outside of punk shows. He paired it with the most tattered pair of jeans he owned and nearly blinded himself while applying a thick coat of eyeliner. 

“It’s locker fourteen,” mumbled Vaughn.

“Dude, I can’t hear you.”

“Fourteen,” Vaughn said in a strained whisper.

“You _gotta_ be louder than that.”

“I can’t! What if he hears me?”

August sighed and turned around. “Okay, if you use your damn eyeballs, you’ll see this hallway is completely deserted. Y’think he’s hiding in a trash can or something? Wanna look for yourself? I can throw you in one if that’s what you _really_ want.” 

Vaughn gulped and adjusted his volume accordingly. “Nope. Nope, I’m good. Locker fourteen.”

As August stuck the key into the lock, Vaughn’s palms began to sweat. _I’m really doing this_ , he thought. _Do I even want to do this? Am I dumb for trying? Oh, God, maybe I should just back out._

August cleared his throat, causing Vaughn to twitch violently. “You gonna put that in the locker, or...”

“Yepp, going in right now!” Vaughn said with a nervous laugh. He then proceeded to take a full thirty seconds to gingerly place the bag on the top shelf. August’s stare followed his every move. 

The moment the item left Vaughn’s hands, August slammed the locker door shut and leaned against it. “You’re welcome. Now tell me, like you promised.”

Vaughn tugged at a loose string of hair falling from his wig. “I, uh, forgot the question.”

“You said you knew whether or not Sasha would go to the homecoming dance with me.”

“Right, I totally know that little... factoid...”

August raised an eyebrow. “Don’t make me regret abusing my presidential powers for you, man. _Tell_ me.”

“Well,” Vaughn began, unable to make eye contact with August. “It’s a funny situation.”  
  
“It won’t be a funny situation when I bash your freakin’ face in,” August growled, pounding the locker with his fist and hovering close to Vaughn’s face. “Get to the point.”

“She, uh–”

“August, why do you look like you’re about to beat Vaughn into a pulp?” Sasha exclaimed from down the hall.

“And why is he about to get Vaughn’s guts all over my locker?” Rhys mumbled.

On cue, August jumped a foot away from Vaughn. “Sasha, hey!” he said in a cheery tone. “We were just talking about stuff. Y’know. Guy stuff.”

Sasha glared at him as she approached, then looked at Vaughn for confirmation. “Guy stuff,” he repeated, nodding furiously.

“Great. Glad you’re bonding. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get into my locker,” said Rhys.

“Your... locker.” Vaughn’s face reddened. “Okay, gotta go!” With that, he turned on his heel and promptly jogged away.

“Wait! Are we still on for Spirit Week shopping tonight?” Rhys called at his friend.

“Yeah, sure, maybe, I don’t know! Bye!”

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?!” August shouted down the hall. When he noticed Sasha shaking her head disapprovingly, he grimaced. “Uh, we gotta finish talking about our... workout routines and stuff!” He gave a small wave to Sasha before taking off after Vaughn.

“Weird as hell,” commented Sasha. 

“Tell me about it. You think Vaughn’s helping August ask you out?” Rhys questioned as he put his books away.

“If he is, then August doesn’t seem to be appreciating Vaughn’s input,” Sasha sighed as her eyes caught a glimpse of the top of Rhys’s locker. “Hey, what’s that thing up there?”

“Huh. Not sure. I think the bag is from the school store, but I haven’t bought anything there for a while...” He grabbed the package off the shelf and reached inside, surprised and elated at the contents. “A bar of chocolate! Maybe it’s been up there and I just forgot about it. Past Rhys is always looking out for Present Rhys.”

“Or maybe someone planted it in your locker to poison you,” Sasha suggested.

“Either way, I’m eating it,” Rhys declared as he tore at the wrapper.

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I’ll leave you two alone, then. See you tomorrow, get ready to cheer your ass off!”

Rhys nodded and mumbled a goodbye as he stuffed chocolate into his mouth. After Sasha left, he crumpled up the bag to throw it out– only to realize there was a note taped to it. The words were written in small, cramped, yet familiar handwriting:

_RHYS, WANNA GO TO THE DANCE TOGETHER? FROM YOUR BRO, VAUGHN.  
_ _P.S.: EVEN IF YOU DON’T WANT TO, ENJOY THE CHOCOLATE._


	3. Day Three: Mismatch Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know.   
> I know.   
> I'm sorry.  
> Thanks to everyone who's commented, faved, etc. even though this fic has been dead for so long. You guys are honestly the reason I revisited this and decided to keep going! And geeze, I forgot how fun it was to write these characters in this premise. I promise that I will see this through to completion without anymore sizable breaks. (If I don't follow through, you all have permission to pester me about it every day for the rest of my life.)  
> ANYWAY, after nearly a year with no updates... I present to you: chapter three.

Mismatch Day was August’s least favorite Spirit Week event. Everyone’s trashy outfits were enough to make him gag. Plus, the freshmen always went all-out, spurned forth by a burning desire to look like freaks and not get bullied for it like every other day of the school year.

August not-so-fondly remembered his freshman year mismatched look: one black combat boot, one checkered skate sneaker. Striped jacket over plaid vest over skull-patterned t-shirt. Eyeliner, but only on the left eye. It won third place in the costume contest back when Hyperion High had enough funding to make every try-hard feel like a winner. A picture of the outfit made it into the yearbook, but tenth-grade August had blotted his face out with a permanent marker. He’d made it his secret crusade to scribble the picture out of his entire class’s yearbooks; so far, by his calculations, he’d achieved an eighth of his goal.

However, this year was different than the others. Thanks to Hyperion High’s special tradition for the senior class president to participate in the powderpuff game as the role of their choosing, August had an excuse to skip the dress-up day in favor of donning a more flattering outfit. He couldn’t help but pause in the mirror to admire his legs before leaving for school– they looked _totally_ hot in a cheerleading skirt.

August’s extra admiration time normally would’ve cost him the ability to recite the morning announcements– not that he particularly cared, as reflected by his record of tardiness– but on Mismatch Day, August had a not-so-August-like reason to get to school a little early: he needed to apologize to someone.

He stood on the other side of an open locker door, prepared to release the word he’d been practicing all morning. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

Vaughn flinched at the sound of August’s gruff voice. He stood on his tip-toes to peer through the slats in the locker, fear in his eyes. A cold breeze crept up his skirt as he moved. It felt pretty good, actually. He was beginning to see the appeal. “What was that?” Vaughn asked meekly.

“S...sor... God, I can’t even bring myself to say it again. Just take this.” August reached his hand around the locker and shoved a haphazardly taped-up notebook into Vaughn’s hands. “I fixed it.”

Vaughn’s eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, _really_. Is it that hard to believe?”

“Well, usually when someone rips a notebook in half in a fit of rage, you don’t expect them to fix it.” Vaughn picked at one of the many, many pieces of tape keeping the notebook together. “Though, ‘fixed’ is probably an overstatement...”

August crossed his arms. “I can rip it up again if that’s what you want.”

“Nope, it’s fine, thanks,” Vaughn gulped. “But, uh, if I can inquire– why’d you do this?”

“I realized you’d probably tell Sasha I was a jerk if I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

August sighed and dropped his arms to his sides. “And I realized it’s not your fault that she already has a date to the dance. Someone else just had the balls to ask her first. Er, lady-balls. What do girls have instead of balls?”

Upon realizing August legitimately wanted an answer, Vaughn coughed a little. “Ovaries?”  
  
“Ovaries. Yeah, I don’t have those.” August looked genuinely forlorn. “Anyway, you and I are in the same boat, so I figured I’d cut you some slack.”

“I appreciate it– wait, what do you mean, we’re ‘in the same boat?’”

“Neither of us’ll be going to the dance with the people we wanna go with.”

“Hey!” Vaughn cried, looking miffed. “You don’t even know if Rhys said yes to me!”

August raised an eyebrow. “I kinda didn’t expect him to. Did he?”

Vaughn sighed. “Hell, _I_ don’t even know if Rhys said yes. Yesterday we went shopping for Formal Day outfits, and the whole time he was just making light of the note I left him, saying we’re gonna have so much fun at the dance together as _bros_ doing _bro_ things and having _bro_ time–”

“Wow,” said August. “You got bro’d.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Talk about a bro down.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, you wanted to be in the bone zone, but you ended up in the bro zone.”

“I get the point, thanks,” grumbled Vaughn.

“Yeah, I don’t even know why I’m still talking about this since, y’know, I don’t really care.” August looked down. “Must be the skirt. It’s making me all soft and shit.”

“Honestly, it’s putting me in a better mood,” Vaughn said, shifting his hips to make his skirt twirl. “I think it’s the–”

“Breeze on the nutsack?” August offered.

“Yes! Oh man, I was just gonna say that.”

“It is pretty fucking magical down there.”

“Like a tropical vacation for the nether regions.”

“The Bahamas for balls.”

They both laughed a little too long. The awkward silence that followed should’ve been expected, but they still found themselves staring at each other, wordlessly looking for a way to exit the conversation. Vaughn started to sweat.

August put an end to the suffering with an incoherent grunt and a wave before speed-walking down the hall. Cringing to himself, Vaughn began to rifle through his locker for deodorant.

•

“Confetti cannon?”  
  
“Check.”  
  
“CD?”

“Check.”

“Lit homework?”

“Check. You know, in spite of never even opening _Of Mice and Men_ , I think I’m really starting to get to the bottom of what it’s about,” said Fiona, handing a piece of paper to Jack. “It’s kind of like _Ratatouille,_ right?”

“Sure, yeah, doesn’t matter,” muttered Jack as he grabbed the homework, eyes focused on the hallway as the warning bell rang.

Fiona smirked. “God, you’re so nervous. Think he’ll turn you down or something?”

Jack wanted to rub his face in anguish, but he knew he had to avoid sullying his Football warpaint. Two black lines, outlined with gold glitter, adorned his cheeks. The rest of the senior cheerleaders wore the same makeup as a sign of togetherness... and intimidation. Mostly intimidation.

“Look, Fifi,” sighed Jack. “I’m gonna be blunter than blunt force trauma: If you don’t help me pull this off _exactly_ how I dreamed it up in the shower last week, then I will make your life a living hell.”

“Noted,” Fiona said nonchalantly. “Not to be motherly or anything– in fact, I’d rather punch myself in the stomach than be in your mother’s shoes– but if Rhys really wants to go with you, he’ll say yes no matter what. Even if you just, like, ask him out in a normal way.”

Jack glared at Fiona with such intensity, a passing freshman squealed in terror and tripped over their deliberately clashing combo of flip-flop and light-up sneaker. “You’re dropping the word ‘normal’ to the guy who made you tattoo your forehead,” Jack hissed.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “How could I forget? By the way, if you could stop at Principal Tassiter’s office and tell him I’m not in a gang, that would really help my case.”  
  
“The normal way is not an option,” Jack pressed on, shoving the Lit homework into his locker. “I need Rhysie to be so wowed by my glitz and glam, he’ll beg to go to the dance with _me_ once it’s all over. Besides, how would you rather be asked out? By an expertly-planned, tediously-rehearsed display of showmanship in front of your adoring peers, or by– I don’t know– something stupid like a note attached to a plain old chocolate bar?”

“Note and chocolate,” Fiona replied without skipping a beat.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Okay, you’re just saying that to be a dick.”

“I don’t know. Rhys looks pretty happy with his ‘plain old’ chocolate.” She gestured to Rhys, who was munching on the snack Vaughn had placed in his locker the day previous. Jack gulped.

“Hey, lab partner!” Rhys greeted him, wiping excess chocolate on his cheerleading outfit. Jack’s gaze fixated on the hem of Rhys’s skirt. “Can’t wait to see you get your ass kicked today!”

“Oh, really?” Jack said as he puffed out his chest. “Well, I can’t wait to see your ass!” Thinking he had shot back with a solid retort, he grinned wildly. He only realized what he’d _actually_ said when Rhys stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide. Jack’s face went pale. “Wait, no, I meant– can’t wait to see your ass crying about how my ass wasn’t kicked– or something like that– oh, fuck it.”

Rhys laughed as he continued down the hallway, eventually coming across Vaughn, who was getting his books together. Upon catching sight of Rhys, Vaughn hunched over and leaned forward to stick his face in his locker.

_Man, I never realized how bad his posture is,_ Rhys thought. _I should talk to him about that sometime_. “V-Dog!” Rhys called out. “Thanks again for the chocolate, bro.”

Sheepishly, Vaughn peeked his head out from the locker. “No problem,” he said, voice cracking. He closed the door and trudged to first period.

Rhys knew his friend wasn’t quite himself. _Come to think of it_ , _he was pretty down while we were shopping yesterday, too. I guess homecoming is stressing him out._

Incidentally, Rhys had not gotten a good night’s sleep in a week, plagued by nightmares of losing Friday’s game. Sometimes these dreams ended with him getting trampled by a horde of stallions on the football field right before his alarm went off. On those mornings, he’d wake up in a cold sweat, vicious neighs haunting him for hours afterwards.

Rhys walked to his locker as he finished the last bites of chocolate. Despite his fatigue, the sugar rush was enough to keep him upright at eight in the morning. _I owe my life to you, chocolate,_ he thought. _Now if I could only drown out the creepy neighing sounds in my head..._

•

“Alright, cheerlosers! Practice your first routine until you get it perfect ten frickin’ times in a row! I don’t want you to stop until your calloused little knuckles bleed _homecoming_!”

The powderpuff cheerleaders stared blankly at Jack as he walked across the gym. August spoke up. “You do realize we’re not your squad, right?”

Jack, who had switched into auto-pilot when he saw a group of people in cheerleading outfits, paused. “I... knew that,” he murmured. “I’m just helping you guys get into character. Obviously.” Jack started to walk away, then doubled back. “Also, class prez, your skirt’s on backwards.”

August groaned and pulled at his waistband. “ _That’s_ why the tag’s been itching my happy trail all day.”

“Bet you’re getting a nice breeze down there, though.”

“Shit, yeah.”

On the senior team’s bench, Fiona was trying to find the proper way to store a confetti cannon in a backpack. A diagram that Jack had graciously drawn out provided her with a plan for facilitating the grand, romantic gesture. The confetti cannon didn’t come into play until the end of Jack’s routine, but in order to adhere to his ridiculous time cues, Fiona had to keep it close.

Concealing the cannon was also a necessity: during Jack’s freshman year, he orchestrated a “chorus of confetti” during the homecoming game by bringing twenty cannons and setting them off whenever the opposing team was close to scoring. The trick was highly effective and continually made the players fumble in the end zone; however, it also caused a few nasty, confetti-related collisions, one of which resulted in a concussion for the already dimwitted wide receiver.

Following that game, the cannons were banned from school grounds. Rumor had it that a senior wrote a paper for class on the possible longterm psychological damage of Jack’s trick.

“There’s no way the bag will close around this thing,” Fiona stated, tugging at the backpack while half of the confetti cannon stuck out of it. “Some teacher’s totally gonna see me walking around with this.”

“Then don’t _walk_ with it,” Jack advised. Fiona looked at him funny. “Run. Duh.”

“Running won’t make me invisible.”  
  
“Only if you don’t run fast enough.”

Fiona sighed. _Note to self: Next time you want to be a supportive older sister, try to avoid selling your soul to a narcissistic asshole,_ she thought.

But the “narcissistic asshole” was, for once, more concerned with someone else than himself. With his fingers clenching the bench, he kept a close watch on Rhys– and Rhys’s skirted butt– as the junior cheerleaders gathered on the gym’s sidelines.

•

Rhys was beginning to worry. Crowds of students and teachers were filing into the gym for the powderpuff game; Vaughn, however, was nowhere to be found.

“He’ll show up,” Sasha assured him. “You should be more concerned about remembering which way to cartwheel during the halftime number.”

“Trust me, I’m concerned about that too,” Rhys said, a familiar sensation of pressure weighing down on his mind. It was the way he felt whenever he had to make a crucial play during a game– it was like someone important had their eyes on him.

Sasha nudged him. “Captain-slash-slaveowner Jack is staring at you.”

“Huh?” Rhys looked up at the senior bench, his gaze immediately crossing paths with Jack’s. He gave a congenial wave.

Jack started to panic behind his grin. “He thinks something is up,” he whispered to Fiona.

She squinted. “I think he’s just being friendly.”

“No, no, he’s definitely on to us. Shit, all my flirting in lab today must have tipped him off! I didn’t think he was _that_ perceptive, that’s– I mean, that’s kind of hot, but– okay, it’s fine, everything is fine, we’ll have to compensate...” Jack grabbed the backpack. “Fifi, skip phase one.”

“Phase one? That’s just the phase where we play in the game until halftime.”

“And that’s the phase we’re skipping.”

“So we’re starting the plan right now? That’s crazy!” Fiona cried. “It won’t work! There’s only five minutes left before kickoff, and I still need to–”

“ _Now_ ,” Jack said through gritted teeth. He tossed the bag onto Fiona’s lap and shoved her off the bench. As she sprinted to conceal her weaponized party paraphernalia, she muttered a constant stream of insults under her breath.

A moment later, Vaughn burst into the gym, skirt askew and chest heaving. “You’re alive!” exclaimed Sasha as she and Rhys ran up to greet him. “Or, somewhat alive, judging by the way you’re breathing. How fast did you run to get here?”

“Top speed... incalculable,” Vaughn puffed. “I got into an argument with Mr. Katoa about how he graded a question on our last quiz. It was heated.”

“Sounds intense,” Sasha said sarcastically, then slunk back to the bench to avoid sitting through a detailed explanation.

Vaughn didn’t notice and pressed on. “God, let me tell you, he was being so damn stubborn about the valence electrons in question five–”

Rhys put his hand on Vaughn’s shoulder. “Bro, you gotta stop stressing yourself out. It’s getting bad.”

“Huh? Stressing myself out?”  
  
“Lately, you’ve been uptight and miserable and... other bad emotions. You weren’t even in a good mood when we were shopping yesterday,” said Rhys. “I know what’s going on in your head.”

Vaughn’s stomach twisted into knots. “You do?”

“It’s obvious you’re freaking out about the game on Friday.”

“Wh... _what_?” Vaughn stammered. “No, that's not–”

“We’re gonna do fine, man. Trust me.”

“I’m not–”

“Worrying won’t do you any good–”

“Rhys!” Vaughn cried, frustrated that his friend was so terribly oblivious. “It’s not about the game, okay? Dammit, if I’m going to be completely honest, it’s about y–”

“ _Dude_! Watch out!”

Vaughn whipped his head in the direction Rhys was pointing; unfortunately, at the precise moment Vaughn turned, the confetti cannon in Fiona’s backpack swung in front of his face, smashing his nose and knocking his glasses into the air. The situation would’ve been less dismal if Jack didn’t hurry past them a second later, pushing an A/V cart over Vaughn’s spectacles and crushing them under the wheels.

“Sorry!” Fiona called over her shoulder as she kept running, her guilt overshadowed by excruciating anxiety.

Rhys stared in shock at his bloodied friend. “That’s, uh, kind of what I was trying to prevent by telling you to watch out,” he murmured.

“ _Ffnnks_ ,” Vaughn mumbled as he cupped his hands around his beaten-up nose.

Nurse Nina, who’d been watching the incident and shaking her head at the short boy’s bad luck, swooped in. She marched down from the bleachers and grabbed Vaughn’s arm. “You come with me, yes? I get you all patched up.”

“B– but the game! I can still cheer! Look, my nose isn’t even that bad!” He took his hands off his face to prove it. Rhys gagged. Even Nurse Nina cringed at the sight, and she was the person who once single-handedly stitched a sophomore’s fingertip back on.

“Nose is bad,” she said sternly. “Come to my office.”

“But–” There were no buts, just Nurse Nina’s vice grip on Vaughn’s forearm. Gloomily, Vaughn stared back at Rhys, only finding comfort in the gentle gust that rustled his skirt as he was pulled away.

Rhys returned to the junior bench, face pale. “Oh my God, is Vaughn okay?” asked Sasha as he sat beside her. “I looked away for two seconds, and when I turned back, it was like his nose exploded.”

“I’m not even sure what happened,” Rhys sighed. “Your sister was there, I think. She was running so fast, she was almost invisible... oh, and then Jack–”

“Jack!” Sasha exclaimed through a frown. “I should’ve known that dickhead was involved. If he was with Fiona... shit, what has she gotten herself into? What did Jack do? And why didn’t you punch him?”

“I don’t think it was on purpose. Fiona apologized when–” Rhys stopped abruptly.

Sasha furrowed her brow. “Uh, you still there?”

Rhys gestured toward the tech booth. Sasha looked over just in time to see her sister forcefully pushing the school’s resident A/V nerd out the door.

A second later, the lights in the gym dimmed. Everyone began to murmur in confusion. The projector on the glasses-destroying cart flickered on. A video of a pack of stallions running in slo-mo played on the wall, and a jaunty pop song came out of the gym’s speakers.

“Mad Moxxi,” Rhys whispered. “This is a Mad Moxxi song.”

“Your point?” Sasha asked.

He gulped. “It’s probably nothing.”

When a spotlight fell on Jack, who was holding a microphone as he stood at the top of the bleachers on the opposite side of the gym, Rhys knew it was definitely _not_ nothing.

“ _If I asked you a question, would you say yes?_ ” Jack sang along to Mad Moxxi as he descended the stairs. “ _Can we agree that I’m the very best?_ ” A group of freshman girls squealed in delight as he passed by their row. Their screams escalated when he shot finger guns at them, and one of them grabbed his pant leg. With a disgusted look on his face, he shook her off, not missing a note. “ _I’ve seen the way you look at me, and you know how I look at you..._ ”

“He’s staring over here,” Sasha commented.

“Is he?” Rhys said, even though he’d already noticed.

“ _I think it’s time to admit what we both know is true..._ ”

The beat dropped. A sudden, bright light shone in Rhys’s face. Temporarily blinded, Rhys recoiled; when he reopened his eyes, he froze. A second spotlight was shining on him and him alone.

Jack skipped down the steps as his cheer squad assembled at the base of the bleachers. Two of the girls linked their arms together and grunted as Jack hopped on top, using them as his personal stage. The other girls stood in a line and extended their hands toward Rhys, coaxing him forward. Rhys’s heart thumped relentlessly in his chest.

“He’s gotta be kidding,” Sasha murmured. “There’s no way you’re actually going to–” Sasha stopped talking when she realized Rhys was no longer sitting next to her. She sighed and watched him walk to Jack, trying to trust that Rhys knew what he was doing.

He didn’t. He was just going with the flow. He’d been embarrassed at first, but as he made his way across the gym, the feeling melted away. Plus, even though the spotlight was hot, his breezy skirt balanced out the temperature nicely.

The cheerleaders lowered Jack to the ground. One handed him a bar of chocolate– a last minute addition to the plan– and Jack presented it to Rhys.

Though Jack took the microphone away from his face, Fiona knew exactly what he was saying to Rhys; after all, he’d been reciting it to himself all morning. As Fiona watched from the tech booth, she said the words in a mocking tone: “You, me, homecoming dance. Sound like a plan, _Rhysie_?” She rolled her eyes, but went right back to staring at the pair, suddenly nervous about how it would all pan out.

Rhys took the chocolate and nodded, leaving Fiona feeling strangely relieved. Jack pumped his fist in triumph as the cheerleaders clapped.

_HE SAID YES!_ was projected onto the wall. The students exploded into a round of applause– any excuse to make noise was good enough for them– and Fiona couldn’t help but offer a few claps, too. Jack said something to Rhys and Fiona read his lips; it was along the lines of, “I’m wearing yellow to the dance, so find something to match.” A twinge of remorse appeared on Rhys’s face.

Fiona snickered until Jack turned toward the tech booth, scowling. “Oh, shit,” she said through her teeth, realizing she'd missed a cue. She grabbed the backpack and bolted out of the tech booth, nearly knocking over Principal Tassiter as she ran.

“ _Stop_! You come back here this instant!” he yelled after her.

Fiona picked up the pace, already forming a plea for innocence in her head. _I helped Jack do it for true love! Don’t you believe in true love?!_ She grimaced, knowing this would be a hard sell.

Meanwhile, Rhys was unwrapping his chocolate bar. “Hey, uhm,” he stammered over the music. “Can I go back to my seat now? Or is everyone waiting for us to, uh, y’know... _seal the deal_?” He started blushing.

Jack would’ve found it cute if he didn’t have more pressing matters on his mind. “Wait, just give it like, five seconds... assuming my assistant is competent–”

Suddenly black and yellow balloons fell from the ceiling, much to the delight of the students and chagrin of the staff. Then a _bang!_ rang out, followed by a deluge of confetti and glitter.

Jack sighed as he brushed off his shoulder. “Better late than never– seal the deal, you tall-ass noodle.” He grabbed Rhys by his form-fitting cheerleader shirt and kissed him hard.

Fiona laughed maniacally as she held on to the confetti cannon in the back of the bleachers. She had to admit that the excitement of pulling everything off was totally worth the stress-induced insomnia. Her adrenalin rush was short-lived, however, and a hard tap on her shoulder caused her smirk to disappear. Principal Tassiter stood behind her with crossed arms and no forgiveness in his expression.

“I can explain,” she spat out.

“I’d like to hear you try,” he snarled.

•

Nurse Nina’s office was dimly lit. It seemed to reek of past pain that had transpired in the room– not because of the symptoms that caused students to end up on its hard cots, but rather the suffering inflicted by Nurse Nina herself.

Vaughn’s pain was fifty percent related to his nose and fifty percent emotional. “Are you _sure_ I can’t go back to the game?” he whined. “I’ll just go cheer in the halftime show and come back, I promise–”

“You are injured. I help. End of story.”

A Mad Moxxi song, accompanied by an upswell of cheering and hollering, filtered down the hallway. Vaughn sighed wistfully. When Nurse Nina went to the storage room to get supplies, Vaughn took out his phone and texted Sasha.

* * *

  **Vaughn  
** _PLEASE tell me the game isn’t as fun as it sounds._

* * *

  **Sasha  
** _Would you consider a surprise dance-posal “fun?” Because that’s all that’s happened so far._

* * *

**Vaughn  
** _More fun than being the only resident in Pain City. Who got... uh, “dance-posed” to, anyway?_

* * *

  **Sasha  
** _You’re not gonna believe me. It seems impossible._

* * *

  **Vaughn  
** _I LOVE impossible stuff, Sash. Tell me!_

* * *

 In spite of what he’d said, Vaughn did not enjoy the particular impossibility that presented itself in the form of Sasha’s next text message.

Nurse Nina returned from the storage room with an assortment of bandages and scary-looking, metal instruments. She studied Vaughn’s face for a moment. “You got pale. More pale. I fix you now.” She held up her menacing tools. “Easy way or hard way?”

“I feel nothing,” Vaughn mumbled, his mouth barely moving.

Nurse Nina grinned. “Hard way it is.”


	4. Day Four: Formal Day

_Rhys is barreling down the field! This is it, folks, he’s going to get the big W for the Stallions– wait a second– are those gunshots? Oh my God, the cheerleaders have gone mad! They’re shooting down the entire opposing team! They’re turning toward the crowd now– run for your lives…!_

“Dude, are you serious?”

Rhys awoke with his head in his locker and an image of Jack’s blood-stained, smirking face burned into his head. He could practically feel the butt of Jack’s submachine gun on his chest as he struggled to bring the real world into focus. Sasha shook her head as she watched him rub his eyes. “Still not getting any sleep, huh?”  
  
“No, not really… I’m just so…” Rhys yawned loudly. “Sorry– uh, question, but d’you there’s any way to hide an SMG in a cheerleading outfit?”  
  
“Depends on where you’re stashing it, I guess.”

“Right, right.” Rhys leaned on his locker door for support. His vision cleared enough for him to take in Sasha’s red, A-line dress paired with a sensible pair of sneakers. “Geeze, Sash, why’re you all… you know…” He gestured to her outfit. “…Like that?”

“You’re kidding,” Sasha stated. “It’s Formal Day, remember? I made the mistake of asking Gaige what I should wear– you know, as like, a flirty gesture– and she said I should wear a cute dress. A _cute_ _dress_! Can you believe it? I had to rifle through Fiona’s clothes from ninth grade to find this thing. Anyway, I thought you went shopping with Vaughn to get a fancy outfit. Why’re you wearing sweatpants? That’s weird for you, even on a normal day.”

Rhys groaned for a full seven seconds. “I totally forgot about Formal Day. Vaughn’s gonna hate me. Oh, shit, I think he already does, he didn’t answer any of my texts last night– do you know if he hates me?”

She shrugged. “He hasn’t talked to me since he got rushed to Nurse Nina’s office yesterday.”

Rhys’s eyes grew wide. He grabbed Sasha’s shoulders. “Oh my God,” he breathed. “Vaughn is dead.”

Sasha laughed until she realized Rhys was serious. “You need sleep,” she said, gently removing his hands from her shoulders.

“I can’t. I’ve tried. Every time I close my eyes I see… football. Football and cheerleaders. Sometimes with guns.” He imitated a gunshot noise.

Sasha cringed at his attempt at sound effects. “Does this have anything to do with your homecoming date?”

“No, pshh, of course not–"  
  
“ _Rhysie_!”

Jack’s morning gait contained more swagger than usual. After all, he was going to homecoming with the best-looking guy on the football team. What could’ve been a more picturesque, reputation-boosting scenario? 

To top it all off, Jack’s Formal Day outfit was nothing short of an eyeful: evoking vibes of his royal Celebrity Day ensemble, he was decked head-to-toe in a gold suit accented in black with a gold-dipped rose adorning his breast pocket.

At the sight of the proverbial firefly of Hyperion High, Sasha’s aggression spiked. “ _Hey_! I have a bone to pick with you!” she growled as she stomped toward him. “You got my sister in a shitload of trouble with your stunt yesterday!”

“Please. She was a willing participant,” Jack scoffed.

“Oh, so that’s what they’re calling extortion these days? How’s she going to watch the game now that you’ve gotten her kicked off the cheerleading squad by Tassiter?”

“Save your fiery attitude for the big game, Jockette,” Jack advised. “For your information, I have a plan to get precious Fifi onto the sidelines.”

Sasha balled up her fists. “You better.”

“That’s great, ‘cause I totally do.” He blew a kiss at Rhys, who would’ve blushed if his cloudy mind had been able to process it. 

Jack _did_ have a plan to get Fiona into the homecoming game. Okay, it was a long shot, and it was still in the works, but it was still a plan. Kind of.

•

Prior to the powderpuff game, Fiona had been banned from three-point-five school events: orchestra concerts for loud snoring, talent shows for throwing rotten fruit at unenjoyable performers, and of course, sporting events for ref-punching. The “point five” accounted for the fact that she was unable to be at _any_ event during the singing of the alma mater. This was because of the time she re-wrote the lyrics in a lewd manner on a piece of notebook paper, and it “accidentally” circulated around the entire school; Principal Tassiter was brought to tears when the superintendent caught an assembly wherein the students sang something _very_ different than the lyric, “Hallowed halls and brass.”

Fiona thought being banned from three-point-five school events would be hard to top– until her no-go list expanded to include powderpuff games and “any school event with a member of the A/V club working tech.” This feat would’ve been a feather in her cap had it not come with such a hefty price tag.

Feeling gloomy after being kicked off the cheerleading squad by a sour-looking Tassiter– though when wasn’t he sour-looking?– her usual study hall nap turned into a study hall worry session. 

_This is pathetic,_ she thought, moping into her folded arms. _I found my ticket to Sasha’s game only to get it yanked away. And the worst part is, I was just starting to like being on that dumb cheerleading squad. Probably because of all the scheming and sneaky shit, but I still liked it– geeze, who_ am _I?_

“Hey, did you do something different with your… face?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean I’m not wearing glasses?”

“You wear glasses?”  
  
Fiona recognized Vaughn and August’s voices from the table next to hers. She picked her head up just far enough to sneak a peek at them. Vaughn, who was wearing an ill-fitting, powder-blue suit complete with a top hat, looked ridiculous next to August’s slick, black-formal-vest-and-tight-dress-pants combo. The two had been unusually chummy lately– well, as chummy as an ultra-nerd and a hulking brute could possibly be. But sitting together at study hall? That was a level of budding friendship that made Fiona want to laugh out loud and barf all at once.

Vaughn sighed. “Yes, I wear glasses. Or, I  used to wear them, before they got smashed in by _she who must not be named_.”  
  
“I _said_ I was sorry!” Fiona hissed in a voice loud enough to get a wary _shhh_! from the study hall monitor.

Vaughn gulped. “Heeey, Fiona, I didn’t realize you were even in this study hall…”

“That’s because I’m usually asleep during study hall, instead of, y’know, talking shit.” She inched her chair toward their table, then squinted at Vaughn and the chuckling class president who was sitting suspiciously close to him. “You two are sitting suspiciously close,” she pointed out.

“W… what?” Vaughn spluttered. “You’re crazy. No suspicious activity here. Just two, uh, buds, hangin’ out–"  
  
“We’re planning to get revenge on the dillweed you’re working for,” August stated bluntly.

Fiona snorted. “You’re going to try to get revenge on Jack? Good freakin’ luck. He’s always one step ahead– it’s like he’s got a body double on the prowl. What beef do you have with the ‘Almighty Captain of Cheer?’” she asked, using the nickname that Jack had scribbled beside a crude self-portrait in his Pre-Calc notebook.

Vaughn gulped. “Nothing, I don’t–“

“He stole Vaughn’s date to the homecoming dance.”

Vaughn buried his face in his palms. “Thanks, August.”  
  
“What? May as well let the enemy know why they’re our enemy.”

“Look, I’m flattered by the ‘enemy’ label, but I’m only helping Jack for my own gain,” explained Fiona.  
  
August raised an eyebrow. “What does that peacock have to offer?”

“Peacock,” giggled Vaughn. “That’s totally him as an animal.”

“Nah, I was talking about the size of his–“

“He let me join the cheer squad so I could get into the homecoming game,” Fiona interjected. “I got banned from sporting events ever since _Ref-Gate_.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. That was fuckin’ hysterical,” August recalled with a smirk. “Did that ref ever get his nose fixed?”  
  
“If the plastic surgery bill I’m still paying off is any proof, then yes, he did,” grumbled Fiona. August leaned across the table to fist-bump her. The study hall monitor glared at them over the cover of his steamy romance novel.

“Anyway, I got kicked from the cheerleading squad because of yesterday’s little stunt,” sighed Fiona. “But Jack said he’d find a way to get me onto the field. 

I think he mentioned something about a mascot suit.”

“ _Mascot suit_!” Vaughn fumed, banging his fist on the table. This proved to be the final straw to the study hall monitor, who promptly sent all three of them to Tassiter’s office.

“Why’d you get fired up over the mascot suit?” Fiona exclaimed as they marched out of study hall. “I know it’s an idiotic, over-the-top idea from the world’s worst ally, but it’s the only way I’m going to see Sasha play!”

Vaughn shook his head. “It’s not that it’s a dumb idea– which it is– it’s the fact that Jack doesn’t have access to that stallion suit.”

Fiona’s face fell. “So he lied to me.”

“That surprises you?” August asked.

“No, I just… just… _dammit_!” Fiona reflexively punched a locker. A passing teacher directed her to Tassiter’s office. Fiona nodded to his face and flipped him off behind his back. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Well,” Vaughn began. “I think you _could_ get into that suit.”

“How?” asked Fiona.

“A little birdie has the keys to the closet of Stanley Stallion himself,” Vaughn said, nudging August knowingly.

August wrinkled his brow. “Why are you touching me like that?”

“Wh– well– because– oh my God– you know the class presidents are the only students with access to the mascot suit, right? That’s half the reason I ran in the election last year!”

“I thought your class president ran unopposed,” said August.

Vaughn scoffed. “Do you call me winning two percent of total votes ‘unopposed?’”

“Yes,” August and Fiona deadpanned in unison.

“Yeah, so did everyone else,” muttered Vaughn, trying not to look bitter. “But the point is, Fiona, we are your ticket into that mascot suit. And to get it, you’ll have to… to… August, tell her what she’ll have to do!”

August looked confused. “Ask?” Vaughn grunted sourly. “Oh, wait, I see what you’re sayin’. Yeah, you’re gonna help us with our nasty plot.”

“But Jack will light me on fire if I don’t keep doing shit for him, too!”

“We can work with that,” said August through a devious smile. As she groaned, Fiona realized the only perk to this hell week was that she’d be able to put _professional bitch_ on her college transcript.

 •

_Make the play. Score a touchdown. Do the… football thing. Win. The Stallions_ will _win, and I’ll be the one who wins it, and I’ll be forever known as Rhys, the super-cool sports hero– oh, shit, does that cheerleader have a gun?_

“Got this _especially_ for you,” Jack purred as he pet his SMG.

Rhys gulped. _Shit-ball-mania, he’s gonna shoot me!_ Again _! Wait, wait, if he’s gonna shoot me, that means I’m dreaming… I gotta be, right? God, why do all my dreams end like this lately–_

Jack smirked as he pushed the gun between Rhys’s eyes. “You alive in there?”

_Nevermind, this is really happening. He’s totally gonna make my brains into marmalade. Permission granted to freak the hell out._

“IF YOU STOP, I’LL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT!” Rhys cried in the middle of the hallway.

Jack blinked. “Damn, Rhysie. Is that a promise?”

Slowly, reality set back in. Jack _was_ pressing something against Rhys’s head, but it was just a pair of glittering, gold sunglasses. “How long have you been standing there?” Rhys breathed.

“Since I walked up to you and revealed this stylish pair of Hyperion Stallions-inspired eyewear, hand-crafted for the star of the football team. Well, and his notoriously handsome homecoming date. Obviously.” Jack reached into his pocket and took out his own matching pair of sunglasses. “But if you’re serious about doing _anything I want_ then I’ll gladly give your pair to, I don’t know, a socially inept freshman or something.”

Rhys, still struggling to get a grip on consciousness, adjusted the sunglasses on his face. A passing student was blinded by the light reflecting off the glitter. “No, no,” said Rhys. “These are… neat.”

“I was expecting a better adjective, but since concussions have probably decreased your vocabulary, I’ll let it slide,” Jack said. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“Huh? I think I’m a normal temperature. Am I sweating or something?” 

As Rhys felt his forehead for a fever, Jack began to doubt the competency of his potential boyfriend. He wanted to make a bitter comment about Rhys’s intellect, but when he spotted Fiona heading down the hall flanked by a couple of known detractors, his train of thought derailed and burst into flames.

Fiona, having spotted Jack at the last possible second, attempted to hide herself behind the small one’s body– _God, I gotta stop calling Vaughn ‘small one’ in my head before I say it to his face_ , she thought– but her efforts were fruitless.

“ _Fifi._ ”

“Heeey, captain,” she forced.

Vaughn shook Fiona’s grip from the back of his shirt. “What am I, a human shield?”

“Shut up, small one.” _Okay, that one slipped out,_ Fiona thought, ignoring Vaughn’s glare.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” Jack said to Fiona, one hand on his hip. “Have you been hiding from me? That would be dumb, ‘cause like, this school isn’t big. You should’ve known I’d find you.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Nope, not hiding.” _Just hoping I wouldn’t cross paths with you._ “Uh, I have your Lit homework–“

“What’s with your body guards?” asked Jack.

“What?”

“I’m talking about President Cyborg and the short stack of Barbie-sized flapjacks.” Fiona looked at Jack blankly. “I call them that because one’s got more metal than skin on his face and the other’s about the size of a doll’s breakfast.“

“We can hear you,” grunted August.

“You really think I don’t know that, Mr. Roboto?” Jack shot back.

“They’re not my ‘body guards,’” Fiona blurted out. “We’re just… chillin'.”

“Yeah, we’re business partners now,” said Vaughn. Fiona elbowed him in the stomach. He coughed as he fumbled with his next words. “Did I say business partners? I meant friends. We’re _friends_.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, but refused to acknowledge the small one’s slip-up. “Lit homework? Astronomy take-home quiz?” Fiona handed him his notebook and a few papers. “Great. Now, shoo.”

Fiona crossed her arms. “Shoo? That’s all the thanks I get for–“

“ _Shoo_ , minion,” Jack commanded her. Rolling her eyes, Fiona trudged off.

August began to follow, but stopped when he realized Vaughn was idling in front of a statuesque Rhys. “Dude, Fiona wanted us to stomp away as a group,” August said. “You gotta get better at the whole _gang mentality_ thing.”

Jack was about to interject with a snarky comment, but then remembered he’d forgotten to instruct Fiona to get three new assignments done before lunch. He sped away without a word of acknowledgement to the other two as Vaughn snapped his fingers in Rhys’s face.

“I’m pretty sure Rhys is broken,” Vaughn concluded.

August made a face. “Broken?”

“Look how pale he is. And I think he’s snoring…”

“Are you blind, man?”  
  
“Without my glasses? Honestly, a little. This morning I thought I saw a lemon tree attacking a decorative lamp, but it was just Janey Springs making out with her girlfriend–"  
  
“Not what I meant.” August pointed an accusatory finger at Rhys. “Look at this asshole! He’s straight up ignoring you! He’s even got on these tacky-ass sunglasses so he doesn’t have to look you in the eyes.”

“You really think so?”

He gestured to his chest. “Takes a douchebag to call out a douchebag.”

Vaughn frowned. “Ouch,” he murmured, looking at August. “He could’ve just told me he didn’t want to go to the dance with me in the first place.”

“Don’t tell me that. Tell _him_!”

Adopting a scowl worthy of a very angry Pterodactyl, Vaughn stared his best friend in the sunglasses-clad eyes. “You’re a jerk, you know that? Next time, be honest with me instead of stabbing me in the back.”

“If there even is a next time,” August added.

“Yeah! If there even _is_ a next time!” Vaughn cried, picking up steam. “You know what? I’m kinda glad you’re giving me the silent treatment, ‘cause I don’t want to hear your lame excuses!”

“Fuck lame excuses!” exclaimed August.

“Yeah! Fuck ‘em!” Vaughn shouted. “How’s that feel, _bro_? Feeling shitty now, _bro_? Well, you can take all those _bro_ s and shove them up your–"

“Why the hell–"  
  
“ASSHOLE!”

Jack felt a breeze– and spittle– from Vaughn’s mouth as he approached the fuming short stack. “As I was saying,” Jack said calmly, flicking away beads of saliva from his shirt. “Why the hell are you yelling at my homecoming date?”

“Catharsis.” Vaughn glowered at Rhys, then lead August in a tandem stomp-away.

Jack shook his head. “When will that guy learn he needs to date within his height range?” He placed a hand on Rhys’s shoulder, which roused Rhys from a deep slumber and sent him tumbling backwards into a row of lockers.

“ _Hi-hello-yes I’m awake_ ,” Rhys yelped.

“Welcome back,” Jack said, smiling as he held Rhys upright. “Have a nice trip to Dream Land?”

Rhys scratched the back of his neck. “I did have a weird dream, actually. Vaughn was on fire and screaming a Satanic chant at me.”

“Not too far off from reality.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack said, waving his hand dismissively. “Wanna cut class and take a nap at my place?”

Rhys’s eyes widened. “Yes, God, more than anything,” he said. “But if we get caught, we’ll be in _so_ much trouble…”

Jack shrugged and slid his hands around Rhys’s waist. “Relax and trust me, Mr. Football Star.”

“Oh… I… okay,” Rhys gurgled, feeling warm despite his lack of a fever. As they snuck out through the basement exit hand-in-hand, Jack’s undying smirk gave Rhys the inkling that he wasn’t going to get much rest after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how when I posted the last chapter I was all, "no big breaks between chapters anymore?" Well... life had other plans.  
> However! Things have calmed down IMMENSELY in my personal life so the next chapter should be up promptly. I profusely apologize for the long wait and I sincerely hope some of you (any of you?) still care about this little story. Thank you all~ <3


End file.
